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      Were they having an affair? Had it started before I'd finished with Andrew? Was the reason he'd taken the split so badly not that he was in love with me still—if he ever had been—but that his pride was hurt; he'd missed the opportunity to get in there first?

      I'd expected Andrew to jump into bed with someone else pretty soon, or at least braced myself for a mountain of 'don't give a damn' if word reached me that he had, but not this. Not this.

      With...with Marie? What the hell had she been thinking? And what had he, sending me photographs of their night together?

      I didn't know what hurt most; Marie's presence in these tawdry shots, or the fact Andrew had felt he'd achieve something by sending them.

      Remove the thumb drive. Bin it. No. Delete every shot first and then bend it all out of shape so you won't be tempted to look again.

      Certain brands of thumb drives were practically indestructible so deleting the contents of this one would be wise. I could bend it, take a hammer to it, hell, even douse it with petrol and set it on fire and if the remains were sat at the bottom of my bin, I'd still be tempted to fish it out and have another look if the files were still on it when I removed it from my laptop's USB port.

      My lack of panic, anger, incandescent rage frightened me. I was dismayed. Surprised. Queasy, even. But none of these were strong emotions. Where was the passion? The lack of control? Why wasn't I crying?

      Didn't I care?

      Before I could change my mind or make copies, I hit CTRL-A and DELETE, then the off button on the laptop without shutting down properly, ripped out the thumb drive and threw it in the bin. No need to hammer it or run it through a mangle if the data had been deleted.

      "Shit." I'd forgotten the email I'd received before plugging in the damn drive with all those photos on it. I hit the on button again. Waited.

      Nothing.

      Again.

      Eventually the whirring started and an error message flashed up on screen.

      I tried unplugging the laptop and running it off the battery, switching it off, removing and replacing the battery, but nothing worked. As the minutes passed, the cold shiver of concern in the pit of my stomach grew into panic.

      Somehow something had affected my computer and I hoped it wasn't a virus, but it certainly looked that way.

      And the last thing I'd done was plug in the drive I'd just thrown in the bin. The drive Andrew had given me.

      "The evil, sneaky bastard!" Now I felt it. The anger, dismay, panic and burst of energy which made me want to hit someone. Now came the rage. The useless douchenozzle had given me a thumb drive, knowing I would look at it and release whatever hard-drive-raping virus he'd planted on it along with photos of him in bed with my best friend.

      "Oh God... oh God... This isn't happening. It can't be. It can't be happening..."

      I needed to phone someone. But who? Leo?

      "Oh shut the fuck up, Piper!" Despite shaking my head I couldn't rid it of thoughts of him. And I knew he wouldn't do any good in a situation like this. Oh hi, remember me? Yeah. I'm calling because I want to cry on someone's shoulder about my ex fucking one of my best friends, sending me photos of the event and then fucking up my laptop with a virus of some sort. Glad I called now, aren't you?

      "Christ, Holt, you're a fucking loon." I picked up my mobile from the coffee table and scrolled through the phone book. Former lovers. Andrew, Gray, Leo. Seeing Gray's name reminded me of my brother. Matthias would know what to do, surely?

      No, Matthias would berate me for getting involved with Andrew in the first place and his connection to Gray would make things uber-awkward for a discussion about another ex of mine.

      He loved me, my brother, but he didn't hold back when he felt I'd screwed up. Whatever he thought about the way things had gone between me and Gray, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his overwhelming urge as regards Andrew would be to say "I told you so. The guy's a cock."

      Well yes he was, but that didn't help any.

      Marie, then, after all.

      I hit the call button, my heart thudding louder and louder, pulse ringing in my ears along with the phone at her end.

      "Hello?"

      Too late to hang up, then. Besides, caller display would make it plain who I was.

      "Piper, is that you?"

      Deep breath. "I've seen the photos."

      "I'm sorry, what? Piper, is something wrong?" Without missing a beat.

      Boy, you're good. I mean, really good. Did you know about this all along? Did Andrew tell you tonight was the night he'd be coming round and handing me that damn device? Did you cook this up between you?

      "Piper? Are you still there?"

      "I've seen the photos. Of you and—" Gathering my thoughts and my breath, I ploughed on. "The photos of you with Andrew."

      Beat.

      "Oh." Another pause. "Oh."

      "Yeah. Oh. He very kindly brought round a thumb drive this evening, with photos on it. A drive which, incidentally, has also fucked up my computer. It won't switch on or reboot, so I'm assuming he planted a virus on the damn thing as well, because if he didn't it's a remarkable coincidence isn't it, that my laptop should die on the very evening I'm gifted with several photos of him feeling your tits and you wrapping your gums around his—"

      "I can explain!"

      "Oh. Can you?" Don't sound bitchy, Piper. Don't sound bitchy. Don't. Lose. Control.

      "It was... I mean... I thought..."

      "I'm waiting."

      "You'd already split up with him!"

      Despite myself, I breathed a sigh of relief. "When did it happen?"

      "Piper, listen to me. I can—"

      "When, Marie?"

      "Sunday night."

      "Last Sunday night?"

      "Yes."

      When I was with Leo, then. After the phone call in my kitchen. "God damn it." Had Andrew been so incensed by Leo's call that he'd marched round to my place, found me out, then...then what? Continued to Marie's and fucked her out of revenge?

      "He was upset, and..."

      "Upset and carrying a bottle of wine?" I snapped, recalling the photo of her raising her glass.

      "No, I already had... look, I know how this looks—"

      "Yes, and thanks to David Bailey here, I know how it looks in glorious fucking Technicolor. Because that's the kind of guy he is. He pretended to be upset, then got you drunk and took photos of you both. That's Andrew Kincaid all over, and you fell for it."

      "Now listen, it wasn't like that. I mean, he... I..."

      "Yes, Marie? How exactly would you explain the fact you have had sex with my ex?"

      "Piper, come on, be reasonable. It's not as if you were still together and let's face it, you'd been to bed with another—"

      "Who I have been to bed with or not is irrelevant here. We're talking about you. You, creeping with Andrew." Something inside me shuddered. I wasn't getting it. Yet. "It's not even that classy. Alcohol? You let him take photographs? Him? I always knew he was a... a... Christ. I expected better of you."

      "I'm sorry. What do you want me to say?"

      "I want this never to have happened. I want you never to have had sex with my ex-boyfriend. Because it doesn't matter that we'd split up. Or how long it'd been, or how short a time. It doesn't matter. You just don't do that. I mean, it's been, what, weeks? And you..." Yes, it's only been weeks, and she jumped in pretty fast. "You fell for it? You fell for his act? That's what he does, Marie. He acts in a certain way to get what he wants and he... he..."

      "Piper, can't we talk about this?"

      "No, Marie. We can't. Because it boils down to you let Andrew put his penis inside you. The fact you didn't tell me about it right away—" I choked on my own suspicion. The penny hadn't quite dropped, but it was beginning to topple. "The fact I had to find out from him, shows you wanted to keep it secret."

      "I was embarrassed!"

      "Embarrassed, is it? Embarrassed? Interesting that you use that word rather than 'ashamed'. Hell, I'm embarrassed that I ever went out with the guy. What's your excuse for doing what you did? You were drunk? I hope your hangover wasn't too bad; I know there's not enough alcohol in the world for me to..." There it was again, that internal shudder. Like a penny falling over. "Marie."

      "What?" Her voice wasn't as small as I thought it should have been, given who was in the wrong here.

      "That night we were supposed to meet up in Kelleher's and you cancelled."

      She paused before answering. Only for a second, but that was long enough. "What about it?"

      "Did you really have a migraine, or... did you find something better to do? No, no, don't answer that. Were you ever going to tell me? No, don't answer that. Fuck. Fuck. I'm going to hang up now."

      "No, don't! I—"

      "And if you ever, ever try to get in touch with me again..." I bit my bottom lip, eyed the bin on the other side of the room. She didn't know I'd deleted all photographs... "If you ever try to contact me again, I'll plaster those photos all over the internet and everyone will know what a cheap little tart you are."

      I slid my phone shut and collapsed back into the settee cushions, waiting for the tears to come, but they didn't.

      Maybe it had just happened. Maybe they had just fallen into it, or at least she had. Andrew? Devious bastard. But either way, it didn't bleach out their duplicity. Apologizing now didn't change the past. "I'm sorry; what do you want me to say?" Marie had asked. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I should have stopped while I —we—had the chance.

      Ah, but that would have meant acknowledging something way back then, recognizing their own culpability. Stopping, pulling back, saying "No," would have been the simplest, surest way to force them to look at what they were contemplating. And why would anyone choose to confront their own potential mistreatment of someone they supposedly cared for?

      "And there's your salad." I punctuated my words with an inane grin as our boss liked us to do. Normally I ignored her orders masquerading as advice and spoke to the customers as I pleased—that is, as if they were humans and not brain-dead spackers—but today I pretended. Today I plastered a Hollywood smile on my face so the misery wouldn't trip me up.

      "Thanks love." The gentleman and his wife responded with smiles more genuine than my own and I felt guilty for fooling them as he spoke. "Always nice to be served by someone with such a pretty smile."

      "Steve, leave the poor girl alone; you're embarrassing her."

      'Steve' shrugged. "What? I was only—"

      "I'd better see to my other tables," I said, hoping my hasty exit would help Steve avoid further nagging. "People. People at the tables I mean. Enjoy your meal."

      It took too much effort to appear normal. I couldn't hold a smile for that long. I'm a waitress, not an actress.

      For a few days I'd been susceptible to moments of melancholy which was only natural given everything that had happened, but it wasn't me. Not me at all. Piper Holt was the woman who bounced back.

      But Andrew and Marie, those photos... and my computer fucking up. Whether it was directly connected to anything Andrew had done or not I couldn't be certain but the timing was too damn convenient for it to be otherwise when I examined the matter closely.

      "Piper?" Karen asked as she passed, carrying a pile of

plates.

      Our eyes met, but we said nothing further. She frowned. I raised my eyebrows as if to say nothing's wrong but we both knew it was a lie. I hadn't told her about Andrew and Marie or the photographs, just wanted to forget about it. Didn't stop me torturing myself. At least you haven't given Andrew the satisfaction of a reaction.

      Too, Marie hadn't been in touch so while saddening, it was also a relief. She likely believed I would plaster those photos all over the internet and shame kept her from me.

      Well fair enough. I shrugged, not caring what anyone around me thought. I don't need people like her in my life anyway.

      What I do need is—

      Oh shut up, Piper. Shut the fuck up and get on with your job.

      The diner was busy that day, especially at lunchtime, for which I was grateful. Conversation buzzed, children yelled, women gossiped, cutlery clattered against crockery, people called out requests for another coffee or more tomato sauce.